Lesser Things
by bj
Summary: His favourite memory is ten years ago. Jed n'Abbey vignette.


Disclaimer: 'The West Wing' and all associated materials belong to Aaron Sorkin, NBC, etc. 'The Longest Time' was written by Billy Joel and appears on his albums 'An Innocent Man' and 'Greatest Hits, Volume II.' If you want to pay for this, pay them, you fool.  
  
  
Lesser Things  
By BJ Garrett  
  
His favourite memory is ten years ago, he is dancing with her at Eleanor's junior prom. They are wrapped up together, as if the world is unbearably cold and they have only each other. The kids around them watch, enchanted, envious, hopeful.  
  
That's the Governor and his wife, they say to each other. Ellie's mom and dad. She was so embarrassed when they came to chaperone.  
  
They're doing it again! she wails quietly, hiding her face in her date's shoulder as they sway to the same song. The puffed sleeves of her peach chiffon dress obscure her carefully pinned hair. A sprig of baby's breath falls to the confetti-strewn floor.  
  
The words, for a while, mean nothing, but then a few croon into their solitude.  
  
I'm so inspired by you. That hasn't happened for the longest time.  
  
Her dress is black velvet with a deep v back. His hands are pressed to her skin, holding her. Her arms curve up his back, creasing the jacket of his tux. Her cheek is resting companionably on his shoulder.  
  
Painted a fashionable red, her lips move to the words of the song. His eyes are closed. They barely move. Seconds slip past like eternities. Weight shifting from right foot to left foot and vice versa. The music doo-wopping through the speakers, a bad Billy Joel tribute band.  
  
He thinks without irony that this exclusive school should be able to afford the real thing. He will tell her this thought later, in the car on the way home. She will smile and nod and put her hand on his thigh with a sigh of contentment, unwilling to discuss money at the moment. He will not notice her hand for several miles.  
  
When you put your arms around me, I haven't been there in the longest time.  
  
They smile sleepily in unison, her blusher rubbing off on his shoulder, his eyes still closed. Their world is crowded with strangers, just like the hall they sway in now. She often thinks of how they rarely see each other three days in a row, how she has not lived in her own house for nearly four years.  
  
Her hand slips down his arm and takes his hand. They begin to two-step gently. The kids lose interest, their gazes move away to each other.  
  
I really hate this song, Ellie whispers to her date. He lets her go and they slip out an unmanned exit. Their friends look to see if her parents noticed.  
  
Garish coloured lights and a lazily twisting disco ball light the darkened ballroom. He opens his eyes, and blinks in the blackness. He turns his head and presses his lips to her hair, stiff with hairspray but still sweet smelling. She switches cheeks and looks up into his eyes.  
  
He realises he has no regrets. There is nothing in his life he would do differently if given another chance. Nothing could have been done differently and still wind down the path to this dance.  
  
Her other hand rests on his cheek and her smile turns curious. What are you thinking about?  
  
I love you.  
  
I don't care what consequence it brings. I have been a fool for lesser things.  
  
Her eyes soften, turn to whiskey. When is our shift over?  
  
A strobe light in the corner goes off unexpectedly and he winces. A headache pulses at the back of his head. It will all change. Regrets will be all he can think of, second chances his impossible last hope for absolution. He will even lose the simple perfection of his wife's trusting smile.  
  
I intend to hold you for the longest time.  
  
But right now, they are inseparable, there are no regrets, and no is a liar. He shakes his head, the pain fades, he takes his hand off her back and strokes her cheek. We've got twenty minutes, I think.  
  
Impatience clouds the whiskey. He grins, she turns mischievous. They slip back to a slow rocking as the music fades into polite applause.  
  
"Jed? They want to start now." She stands behind him, face hard, eyes dull.  
  
He stands and goes to her, puts his hands on her shoulders, an apology in his mouth, tilting off his tongue as she searches his face wearily.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Her forehead creases, she leans forward imperceptibly, almost ready to fall into his embrace.  
  
The words form, stick to his teeth, he opens his lips. They won't come. It occurs to him that she ought to know he's sorry. But her face is hard, and Ellie is grown, and the regrets flood into his eyes.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Her lower lip trembles, then stills. The First Lady doesn't cry. "We should go. They want to start." He hesitates, her eyes go liquid. A smile forms at one side of her mouth.  
  
She plants her hands on his face and leans up to kiss him soundly. Her head rests on his shoulder a second later, hands curved up his back, his around her waist. Her breath on his neck dislodges the words from his teeth.  
  
"I'm sorry, Abbey. I've made a terrible mess of things, haven't I?"  
  
She smiles, blusher would rub off on his jacket if cosmetics had not advanced so far in ten years. "You didn't do it alone."  
  
Closing his eyes, he smiles too.  
  
They are inseparable. That's the way they like it.  
  
The End.  



End file.
